


Wings to Fly

by Abyssinia



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-27
Updated: 2006-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssinia/pseuds/Abyssinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>John got the teacher nobody wanted -- Ms. Watson. She was supposed to be mean and hard and locked the bad kids up in the locker behind her desk overnight where she only fed them broccoli.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wings to Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by Hiyacynth

When John finished sixth grade, his parents divorced. His mom picked him up from school and told him he'd be spending the summer with his grandparents, that when he got back his dad wouldn't be living with them any longer. John wasn't surprised. They'd spent the whole year working their way up to this.

Sixth grade was supposed to be the best year -- the top of the school. John got the teacher nobody wanted -- Ms. Watson. She was supposed to be mean and hard and locked the bad kids up in the locker behind her desk overnight where she only fed them broccoli. But John didn't care. He got to be a crossing guard and stand on the corner, helping the little kids cross the street on their way to school. He played basketball or football with the other boys, and that one girl with the long pigtails, each morning and during recess. And for those seven hours he got to not be home.

After school, if it wasn't raining, and sometimes if it was, he would go play in the creek behind his house. He climbed trees, swung on the old rope someone had hung from a limb, or dug foxholes and shot imaginary Germans, re-enacting the World War II movies his dad liked to watch on TV. When it was dark he'd return home, eat the food on his plate, and run upstairs to his room. He read comic books until the shouting got too loud and he put his pillow over his head until he fell asleep.

Everything went fine until the math test in October. The one that was handed back with "See me after school" written on it in big red pen. John watched the other kids file out the room, wondering if his parents would notice if he didn't come home because he'd spent the night in Ms. Watson's locker eating broccoli.

"So," Ms. Watson said, looking at John through the glasses at the end of her nose. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

John poked his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and looked at the toes of his shoes. "What do you mean?"

"You started this year out well, but you haven't turned in a homework assignment in two weeks," she told him. "And now you're failing your math tests. John, I talked to some of your previous teachers. You've always scored top marks in math. Next year you'll be starting junior high, don't you want to do well?"

John shrugged his shoulders, scuffing the toe of his right shoe into the carpet.

"Are you bored? Is something going on at home?" she asked.

John shrugged again. He wasn't going to tell her that for the last two weeks his parents had fought nonstop. He wasn't going to tell her that he couldn't concentrate on his homework when they were like that. It was his family's problem, not his teacher's business.

Ms. Watson sighed. "John, look at me." He looked up into a piercing stare. "You're a bright boy. If you do well enough you could go to college, get out of this town, but you need to work. Now, if you don't start doing your homework I'm going to keep you after school and you can sit here, and do it before you go home."

John shrugged again and looked up at her questioningly. She nodded and he bolted out the door. That night he played at the creek long past nightfall, until he knew he'd get in trouble if he played any longer. When his parents started fighting he hid in his room, paging through the newest issue of Batman. He didn't do his homework. It might have been on purpose.

They developed a rhythm. John stayed at his desk, flying through math worksheets, coloring in maps for social studies and reading A Wrinkle in Time or, later, Tom Sawyer while Ms. Watson cleaned up the room, graded, or prepared the next day's lessons.

He learned early on that if he finished quickly, she'd show him a neat math trick. Ms. Watson had majored in mathematics at college and was eager to teach something beyond fractions and long division. John learned elements of geometry, algebra and later little bits of trigonometry and some basic group theory that year, eagerly absorbing anything she'd show him.

Sometimes she snuck in some science or history but it was a day in early February that changed John's life. They'd spent the week talking about flight -- how planes worked and some of the math behind flying. On Thursday Ms. Watson sent John home with a permission slip for her to take him to the local county airport on Friday where her brother flew crop dusters. John's mother didn't even look at what she was signing.

The airport was a simple affair -- a few hangers, a small control tower and a greasy diner where the pilots sat downing endless cups of coffee. It only took small planes -- mostly crop dusters, but a few rich people had private plans they used to travel, and there were a few small businesses that took people up for glider rides. Ms. Watson led John into the large hanger used for repairs, and he couldn't tear his eyes from the planes.

"You like that one?" a man asked as John carefully rubbed his fingers along the smooth wing of a plane, ducking underneath to see where the engine was exposed, waiting for repair. John only nodded, not taking his eyes from the plane.

"John," Ms. Watson said, "I'd like you to meet my brother."

"Nice to meet you, son." Ms. Watson's brother had a deep voice. "I hear you're interested in planes?"

"Yes, sir," John said, trailing along to the back of the plane, feeling how the tail could flex under his fingers. "Do you think, maybe, I could hang around here sometimes? Learn about flying?"

The man chuckled and smiled at John, ruffling his hair. "Sure. We could always use help on the repairs -- especially from a pair of small hands."

The next several years John's father picked him up on alternate weekends and sometimes he managed to duck out to the car before his parents could start fighting again. Any day he could he biked to the airport where he listened to stories and learned about planes. He liked it best when the older pilots told war stories -- the bombing raids into Germany, dogfights over France. He spent hours in the repair shop, learning to diagnose engine problems, fix leaky hydraulics. Sometimes if someone had to go up -- dust a field or make a quick delivery -- and they had an extra seat, they'd invite John for the ride. He lived for the days they let him take the stick.

While his teammates on the football team got their driver's licenses, he earned his pilot's license -- trading work for lessons. The other pilots taught him to treat his plane like a beautiful woman and his girlfriends like he would his favorite plane. When the Air Force Academy sent him an acceptance letter, he trekked back to his old elementary school. Ms. Watson was the first person he told, and her smile reached her eyes when she hugged him congratulations. At the airport her brother brought a case of beer and, for the first time, they let John get drunk with them.

Years later and a galaxy away John wasn't surprised when the energy creature of M5S-224 brought Ms. Watson to his imaginary bachelor pad. He only wished he could tell her the truth of how far he's come.


End file.
